记得以前的语文课本里有《最后一课》。印象里该作品是法国人写的。最近在网上看到有从法文翻成英文的。以下便是从网上找到的中英文版。
The Last Class Told by a little Alsatian This morning I was very late getting to school and I was afraid of being scolded because M. Hamel had said he would be quizzing us on the participles and I didn’t know the first word. It occurred to me that I might skip class and run afield. The day was warm and bright, the blackbirds were whistling at the edge of the woods, and in the meadow behind the sawmill the Prussians were practicing. Everything seemed much nicer than the rule of participles; but I resisted the urge and hurried toward school. Passing the town hall, I saw a group of people gathered in front of the notice board. For the past two years that has been where we’ve gotten all the bad news, the battles lost, the demands, the commands; and I thought without stopping: “What now?” Then as I ran by, the blacksmith Wachter, who was there with his apprentice reading the postings, called to me: “Don’t rush, boy; you have plenty of time to get to school!” I thought he was teasing me, and I was out of breath as I reached M. Hamel’s. Normally, when class starts, there is noise enough to be heard from the street as desks are opened and shut, students repeat lessons together and loudly with hands over ears to learn better, and the teacher’s big ruler knocking on the tables: “Let’s have some quiet!” I was hoping to use the commotion to sneak into place unnoticed, but today all was silent, like a Sunday morning. Through the open window I saw my classmates already in their seats and M. Hamel, who went back and forth with his terrible iron ruler under his arm. I had to open the door and enter amidst this great calm. You can imagine how flushed and fearful I was! But no, M. Hamel looked at me evenly and said gently: “Take your seat quickly, little Franz, we were starting without you.” I hopped the bench and sat at my desk right away. Only after I had settled in did I notice our teacher had on his fancy green coat, his ruffled shirt and the embroidered silk cap he only wore on inspection or award days. Also, the whole room seemed oddly solemn. But what surprised me most was at the back of the room where the benches were always empty now sat people of the village, quietly like us: the old Hauser with his tricorn, the former mayor, the former postmaster, and some others. Everyone looked sad; and Hauser had brought his old primer, worn at the edges, which he held open on his knees with his glasses resting on the pages. While I was taking all this in, M. Hamel stood by his chair and in the same grave, gentle voice with which he had welcomed me told us: “Children, this is the last time I will teach the class. Orders from Berlin require that only German be taught in the schools of Alsace and Lorraine … the new teacher arrives tomorrow. Today is your last French lesson. I ask for your best attention.” These words hit me hard. Ah! Those beasts, that’s what they had posted at the town hall. My last French lesson … Yet I hardly knew how to write! I had learned nothing! And I would learn no more! I wished now to have the lost time back, the classes missed as I hunted for eggs or went skating on the Saar! My books that I had always found so boring, so heavy to carry, my grammar text, my history of the saints—they seemed to me like old friends I couldn’t bear to abandon. It was the same with M. Hamel. The idea that he was leaving made me forget his scolding and the thumps of his ruler. Poor man! It was in honor of this final class that he had worn his best Sunday outfit, and now I understood why the old men from the village were gathered at the rear of the class. They were there to show that they too were sorry for neglecting to attend school more. It was also a way to thank our teacher of forty years for his fine service, and to show their respect for the country that was disappearing. I was pondering these things when I heard my name called. It was my turn to recite. What wouldn’t I have given to say that vaunted rule of participles loudly, clearly, flawlessly? Instead I tangled the first words and stood, hanging onto my desk, my heart pounding, unable to raise my head. I heard M. Hamel say: “I won’t scold you, my little Franz, you must already feel bad … That’s how it is. We always say: ‘Bah! I have time. I’ll learn “tomorrow.”’ And now you see it has come … Ah! It is Alsace’s great trouble that she always puts off learning until tomorrow. Now people will be justified in saying to us: ‘How come you pretend to be French and yet don’t know how to read or write your language!” You are not the most guilty of this, my poor Franz. We all have good reason to blame ourselves. Your parents did not press you to learn your lessons. They’d prefer to have you work in the fields or at the mill to earn some more money. Myself, I am not blameless. Haven’t I sent you to water my garden instead of work? And when I wanted to go fishing, didn’t I give you the day off?" Then, from one thing to another, M. Hamel spoke of the French tongue, saying it was the most beautiful language in the world, the most clear, the most sensible. That we must keep it ourselves and never forget it, because when a people if they hold onto their language it is like holding the prison key … Then he took a grammar text and read us our lesson. I was stunned to realize how well I understood it. Everything he said seemed so easy, easy! I believe also that I had never listened so well and that he had never explained to us so patiently. One might think that the poor man wished to give us all his knowledge, to fill our heads in a single try. After grammar, we moved on to writing. For this day, M. Hamel had prepared new examples, written in beautiful, round script: France, Alsace, France, Alsace. They looked like little flags floating about the classroom, hung from the rods atop our desks. It was something to see everyone set to our work, and so silently! The only sound was the scratching of pens on paper. Once some beetles flew in but no one paid them any attention, not even the little ones who were assiduously tracing their figures with one heart, one mind, as if this also were French … On the roof the pigeons cooed softly. When I heard them I said to myself: “Will they be forced to sing in German, too?” From time to time when I’d raise my eyes from my writing I would see M. Hamel still in his chair staring at the objects around him as if he wanted to memorize exactly how things were in the little schoolhouse. Imagine! For forty years, he’d been in the same place with his yard before him and all the class likewise. The benches and desks were polished, worn with use; the walnut trees had grown, and the hops he’d planted himself now climbed around the windows to the roof. How heart-breaking it must be for the poor man to leave all these things, to hear his sister packing their things in the room above. They would have to leave the country the next day, forever. All the same, he bravely kept class to the very end. After writing, we had a history lesson, then the little ones sang together their BA BE BI BO BU. At the rear of the room, old Hauser put on his glasses and, holding his primer in both hands, chanted the letters with them. It was obviously a great effort for him; his voice trembled with emotion and it was so funny to hear him that we wanted to laugh and cry. Ah! I do remember that last class… Suddenly the church clock struck noon. During the Angelus we could hear the Prussians’ trumpets beneath the windows as they returned from their exercises… M. Hamel rose, colorless, from his chair. Never had he appeared so large. “My friends, say, my, I … I…” But something choked him. He couldn’t say it. He turned to the board, took a piece of chalk and, using all of his strength, he wrote as large as he could: “VIVE LA FRANCE!” He stayed there, his head resting on the wall, and wordlessly used his hand to motion to us: “It’s over … you may go.” | 最后一课 都德 那天早晨上学，我去得很晚，心里很怕韩麦尔先生骂我，况且他说过要问我们分词，可是我连一个字也说不上来。我想就别上学了，到野外去玩玩吧。 天气那么暖和，那么晴朗！ 画眉在树林边宛转地唱歌；锯木厂后边草地上，普鲁士兵正在操练。这些景像，比分词用法有趣多了；可是我还能管住自己，急忙向学校跑去。 我走过镇公所的时候，看见许多人站在布告牌前边。最近两年来，我们的一切坏消息都是从那里传出来的：败仗啦，征发啦，司令部的各种命令啦。──我也不停步，只在心里思量：“又出了什么事啦？” 铁匠华希特带着他的徒弟也挤在那里看布告，他看见我在广场上跑过，就向我喊：“用不着那么快呀，孩子，你反正是来得及赶到学校的！” 我想他在拿我开玩笑，就上气不接下气地赶到韩麦尔先生的小院子里。 平常日子，学校开始上课的时候，总有一阵喧闹，就是在街上也能听到。开课桌啦，关课桌啦，大家怕吵捂着耳朵大声背书啦……还有老师拿着大铁戒尺在桌子上紧敲着，“静一点，静一点……” 我本来打算趁一阵喧闹偷偷地溜到我的座位上去；可是那一天，一切偏安安静静的，跟星期日的早晨一样。我从开着的窗子望进去，看见同学们都在自己的座位上了；韩麦尔先生呢，踱来踱去，胳膊底下挟着那怕人的铁戒尺。我只好推开门，当着大家的面走进静悄悄的教室。你们可以想像，我那时脸多么红，心多么慌！ 可是一点儿也没有什么。韩麦尔先生见了我，很温和地说：“快坐好，小弗郎士，我们就要开始上课，不等你了。” 我一纵身跨过板凳就坐下。我的心稍微平静了一点儿，我才注意到，我们的老师今天穿上了他那件挺漂亮的绿色礼服，打这皱边的领结，戴着那顶绣边的小黑丝帽。这套衣帽，他只在督学来视察或者发奖的日子才穿戴。而且整个教室有一种不平常的严肃的气氛。最使我吃惊的，后边几排一向空着的板凳上坐着好些镇上的人，他们也跟我们一样肃静。其中有郝叟老头儿，戴着他那顶三角帽，有从前的镇长，从前的邮递员，还有些旁的人。个个看来都很忧愁。郝叟还带着一本书边破了的初级读本，他把书翻开，摊在膝头上，书上横放着他那副大眼镜。 我看见这些情形，正在诧异， 韩麦尔先生已经坐上椅子，像刚才对我说话那样，又柔和又严肃地对我们说：“我的孩子们，这是我最后一次给你们上课了。柏林已经来了命令，阿尔萨斯和洛林的学校只许教德语了。新老师明天就到。今天是你们最后一堂法语课，我希望你们多多用心学习。” 我听了这几句话，心里万分难过，啊，那些坏家伙，他们贴在镇公所布告牌上的，原来就是这么一回事！ 我的最后一堂法语课！ 我几乎还不会作文呢！我再也不能学法语了！难道这样就算了吗？我从前没好好学习，旷了课去找鸟窝，到萨尔河上去溜冰……想起这些，我多么懊悔！我这些课本，语法啦，历史啦，刚才我还觉得那么讨厌，带着又那么重，现在都好像是我的老朋友，舍不得跟它们分手了。还有韩麦尔先生也一样。他就要离开了，我再也不能看见他了！想起这些，我忘了他给我的惩罚，忘了我挨的戒尺。 可怜的人！ 他穿上那套漂亮的礼服，原来是为了纪念这最后一课！现在我明白了，镇上那些老年人为什么来坐在教室里。这好像告诉我，他们也懊悔当初没常到学校里来。他们像是用这种方式来感谢我们老师40年来忠诚的服务，来表示对就要失去的国土的敬意。 我正想着这些的时候，忽然听见老师叫我的名字。轮到我背书了。天啊，如果我能把那条出名难学的分词用法从头到尾说出来，声音响亮，口齿清楚，又没有一点儿错误，那么任何代价我都愿意拿出来的。可能开头几个字我就弄糊涂了，我只好站在那里摇摇晃晃，心里挺难受，头也不敢抬起来。我听见韩麦尔先生对我说： “我也不责备你，小弗郎士，你自己一定够难受的了。这就是了。大家天天都这么想：‘算了吧，时间有的是，明天再学也不迟。’现在看看我们的结果吧。唉，总要把学习拖到明天，这正是阿尔萨斯人最大的不幸。现在那些家伙就有理由对我们说了：‘怎么？你们还自己说是法国人呢，你们连自己的语言都不会说，不会写！……’不过，可怜的小弗郎士，也并不是你一个人过错，我们大家都有许多地方应该责备自己呢。” “你们的爹妈对你们的学习不够关心。他们为了多赚一点钱，宁可叫你们丢下书本到地里，到纱厂里去干活儿。我呢，我难道没有应该责备自己的地方吗？我不是常常让你们丢下功课替我浇花吗？我去钓鱼的时候，不是干脆就放你们一天假吗？……”，韩麦尔先生从这一件事谈到那一件事，谈到法国语音上来了。他说，法国语言是世界上最美的语言，──最明白，最精确；又说，我们必须把它记在心里，永远别忘了它，亡了国当了奴隶的人民，只要牢牢记住他们的语言，就好像拿着一把打开监狱大门的钥匙，，说到这里，他就翻开书讲语法。真奇怪，今天听讲，我都懂。他讲的似乎挺容易，挺容易。我觉得我从来没有这样细心听讲过，他也从来没有这样耐心讲解过。这可怜的人好像恨不得把自己知道的东西在他离开之前全教给我们，一下子塞进我们的脑子里去。 语法课完了，我们又上习字课。那一天，韩麦尔先生发给我们新的字帖，帖上都是美丽的圆体字：“法兰西”，“阿尔萨斯”，“法兰西”，“阿尔萨斯”。这些字帖挂在我们课桌的铁杆上，就好像许多面小国旗在教室里飘扬。个个人那么专心，教室里那么安静！只听见钢笔在纸上沙沙地响。有时候一些金甲虫飞进来，但是谁都不注意，连最小的孩子也不分心，他们正在专心画“杠子”，好像那也算是法国字。屋顶上鸽子咕咕咕咕地低声叫着，我心里想：“他们该不会强迫这些鸽子也用德国话唱歌吧！” 我每次抬起头来，总看见韩麦尔先生坐在椅子里，一动也不动，瞪着眼看周围的东西，好像要把这小教室里的东西都装在眼睛里带走似的。只要想想：４０年来，他一直在这里，窗外是他的小院子，面前是他的学生；用了多年的课桌和椅子，擦光了，磨损了；院子里的胡桃树长高了；他亲手栽的紫藤，如今也绕着窗口一直爬到屋顶了。可怜的人啊，现在要他跟这一切分手，叫他怎么不伤心呢？何况又听见他的妹妹在楼上走来走去收拾行李！──他们明天就要永远离开这个地方了。 可是他有足够的勇气把今天的功课坚持到底。习字课完了，他又教了一堂历史，接着又教初级班拼他们的ba，be，bi，bo，bu。在教室后排座位上，郝叟老头儿已经戴上眼镜，两手捧着他那本初级读本，跟他们一起拼这些字母。他感情激动，连声音都发抖了。听见他古怪的声音，我们又想笑，又难过。啊！这最后一课，我真永远忘不了！ 突然教堂的钟敲了１２下。祈祷的钟声也响了。窗外又传来普鲁士兵的号声──他们已经收操了。韩麦尔先生站起来，脸色惨白，我觉得他从来没有这么高大。 “我的朋友们啊，”他说，“我──我──” 但是他哽住了，他说不下去了。 他转身朝着黑板，拿起一支粉笔，使出全身的力量，写了两个大字： “法兰西万岁！” 然后他呆在那儿，头靠着墙壁，话也不说，只向我们做了一个手势：“散学了，──你们走吧。” |
